tales from the tower
by Graffiti My Soul
Summary: Once upon a time, Faye Amell was not a Grey Warden.
1. jowan

**TALES FROM THE TOWER.**

_once upon a time, faye amell was not a grey warden._

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><p><strong>i. jowan<strong>

"A-Amell?"

Faye turned around, smiling prettily. She was sixteen and talented and reasonably well-liked, and in general, everything that Jowan was not.

"Could you – if it wouldn't be too much of a b-bother – could you be m'partner for the project? In Primal, I mean–" The pale, dark haired apprentice wrung his hands, staring hard at the stone floor. "I'm sorry, uhm, everyone e-else I've asked says they're already working with someone and I..." He looked fairly miserable, and Faye had to admit a large part of felt pity for the other mage. Jowan had never quite gotten along with everyone in the Tower – he was socially awkward at best and pitiful in most of his classes, an absolute nervous wreck at his worst. Faye knew that some of the classmates he'd asked had probably lied just because they'd predicted disaster if they worked with him.

...The Chantry taught them to be kind to those in need, right?

Jowan was clearly in need. Of tutoring, if not a friend.

"I'd be happy to, Jowan," she replied. A little white lie to her answer wouldn't hurt anyone. It would probably make him feel better, even. "I've been looking forward to the project; Primal's my favorite school after all." She tilted her head, trying to summon any scrap of knowledge she had of him. "You're not so bad at it either, right? You were one of the first ones to cast a controlled Flame Blast last week." Jowan flushed and looked up to face her hesitantly.

"R-really? You think so? I – I'm alright with fire, I guess, and I managed lightning once..." he trailed off. "We're supposed to teach our partner a new spell though, and you're already-" he waved his hands around, apparently trying to imitate complicated spellcasting. Faye laughed. Sure, he was a bit of a pathetic sight, but he was amusing.

"Primal's my best, so I've worked the hardest at it. Still, I'm not so great at fire, I use lightning and ice the most. They...flow better, if that makes sense? Fire's not – it's not quite so precise, so I don't like it as much." She summoned a little spark to one finger and tossed it to him, a game that many of the apprentices used to train. He fumbled with the loose sleeves of his robes and missed it, the white glimmer dashing itself against the floor. Jowan flushed dark red and looked, if possible, even more miserable.

"S-sorry. I wasn't – expecting that," he stammered.

Faye shook her head. "Don't worry about it. You probably just don't work well when it's focused – Maker, I bet Creation's _awful_ for you," she mused out loud. "What about Shock? I could teach you that. It's a little like Flame Blast, it works sort of the same." Jowan's face brightened, and he nodded semi-enthusiastically.

"That doesn't sound so bad," he agreed, finally losing his stutter. "I could...what about Flaming Weapons? It's not really _useful_, I guess, but we haven't learned any weapon enchantments in class. I found that one in a book." Jowan looked hopeful, and maybe even a little proud of learning some magic on his own, that Faye didn't have the heart to mention she'd already taught herself Frost Weapons last winter.

"I'd like that. What about – after dinner tomorrow? We have extended curfew because of the weekend, we could practice in one of the classrooms."

Jowan frowned a little. "Aren't we supposed to have Templar supervision for Primal practice though, in case things go- wrong?" He chose not to mention the fact that usually, if he was involved, it _did_ go wrong. Faye grinned, an expression that contrasted her usually studious and well-behaved self, and managed to startle him in the process.

"Don't worry. I'll bother Cullen."

In the weeks to come (Yes, they did pass their spell exchange project with flying colors, thank you very much) the sight of Jowan tagging along after Faye became just another part of the Tower. He would slide into the seat next to her at breakfast and pass the syrup without needing to be asked or watch her with shining eyes as she worked on mastering her spells – she'd been pushing herself even harder and faster in the recent months, despite the fact that her Harrowing was still some years away.

"I need to catch up," was all she said when he asked.

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><p>When she was 20, Faye wished that she, like her classmates once, had predicted that disaster followed Jowan.<p>

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><p>When she was 21, she cast Flaming Weapons for Alistair's blade and Zevran's daggers, and wondered at the irony of using a spell he'd once taught her to cut down the demons he had now unleashed.<p> 


	2. arwen

**ii. arwen**

"Is he your Templar?"

Faye looked up from her scroll, startled. Her elven bunkmate did not speak to her very often, and the initiation of conversation was even rarer. Still. What an odd question.

"Is he...you mean _Cullen_? No, he isn't my – my anything," Faye blurted out, glancing anxiously around. She was a _mage_, not even a fully Harrowed one, and Cullen was already a vowed Templar. Nobody could know that...she wasn't supposed to _care_ for him, just have a healthy respect for him. It would cause ever so much trouble for him if other people knew...

Arwen scoffed and gracefully leapt off the top bunk, her bare feet hitting the floor soundlessly. Faye winced for her, not understanding how the elf's small, delicate feet could bear the harsh impact. Arwen generally went barefooted as often as she could, for reasons Faye didn't comprehend in the slightest.

"Your Chantry says that lying is bad, does it not? He is clearly something to you, any fool could see it. Unless you think my knife ears make me stupid as well?" It was a harsh accusation – only one of many that Faye had heard fall from the Dalish's lips in the two years she'd known her. Arwen had arrived at the Circle quite late, seventeen and already half-trained as a Keeper's First in her clan. Her violent hatred of humans – or shems, as she called them – had been apparent and unceasing since her first step into the Tower. Faye had picked up quite a lot of Dalish from being around her. She had a feeling none of the words were nice.

"I – you know that's not what I meant, Arwen. But mages and templars aren't supposed to...I'm lucky that Cullen is even my friend," she ended with a whisper.

Silence reigned the room, and Faye turned her attention back to her texts, hoping Arwen had lost interest in the subject. She was not so lucky.

"I do not understand the way you shems treat mages," Arwen finally remarked. She had seated herself on a wooden chest across from Faye and crossed her arms, looking up towards one of the small, highly placed windows beside the bed. Unlike most of the apprentices, she'd _known_ that wide open world outside – it had been hers, the sky and the grass and the rain and the ocean – and Faye often saw her look towards the windows, her aqua blue eyes filled with longing.

"What do you mean? Mages are...we are dangerous," Faye admitted softly. "I would not say it's a curse, the Maker gave us this talent for His own reasons, but we could hurt many people if we were not taught and watched properly." The ivory haired elf scowled at her suddenly, the violent expression distorting her usually beautiful features.

"Your _Maker_," she sneered. "I have heard quite a lot about your God and his Prophet in my time here. You say He gives you this Gift, and then your Chantry says that all with this Gift must be locked away in this tower of rock, watched every waking minute by their knights, and slain at the slightest hint of disobedience. You say this is a school, a haven. I call this a prison."

Faye fought the urge to snap and chewed her chapped lips. She had grown up in the Chantry, raised by an elderly Brother in Highever until she'd displayed her talents on an injured stray cat that had wandered by. The Chantry had taken her in when they found her on their doorstep, a squalling babe only months old, fed and clothed her and educated her until she'd been taken to the Tower. The Maker and his Light were_ good_ and_ true_.

She managed to spit out, "Fine then. What would _you_ do? Let all the mages run amok, kill themselves or hurt others with their wild magic or submit to demons because they don't know any better or can't fight them off?" Arwen gave her a sharp look.

"Magic – and the elven people – have existed on Thedas long before your Chantry, Amell. The elves are predisposed to magic, it has always been part of our culture. Those with the Gift are welcomed among our people. The Keeper and their First are always powerful mages, capable of ancient magics and charged with the duty of protecting the clan, keeping them healthy, passing on our traditions and history. The Dalish do not forget."

Faye looked a little chastised, ashamed of her earlier outburst. "I did not mean to insult your traditions. I just – you have to admit that mages-" Arwen cut her off swiftly with a shake of her head.

"Mages need _watching_. Not imprisonment. There is a difference, though your Chantry would claim otherwise." She dug her nails into her palms, her Dalish accent growing stronger as – for the first time – she let Faye into a little part of her world.

"Among the elves...we have those who are named _allan'isa_, charged with the sacred duty of watching over the Gifted ones in the clan. Usually they are paired, and trained together from a young age, until they are capable of working together seamlessly. An allan'isa and a mage are _partners_, each belonging to the other. The Keeper watches over the clan, and their allan'isa watches over them. They are taught to deal with wild magic, with abominations – they are able to sense where the Fade is thin and when demons creep near, seeking their mage. They are protectors."

She breathed deeply and continued, unnoticing – or uncaring – of the wistful expression slipping over Faye's face.

"There is a saying, among my people, of the relationship between an allan'isa and a mage. 'Glad are they who respect each other; blessed are they who find a friend; exalted are they who find love.' Do you see then, why I ask..." Arwen looked Faye in the eye, vivid turquoise locking with silver-flecked grey. "Is he _your_ Templar?"

Faye broke first, glancing away. "We are friends," she breathed quietly. "That is enough."

"But you wish more."

It was a statement, not a question, and Faye nodded with a little sigh. "Yes. I can't ask for more of him, but I wish all the same."

Arwen mimicked her motion in silence, turning her gaze around the room. "It is not...an entirely foolish wish," she said after a long pause.

Faye gave her a curious look after a moment. "You were training to be the First in your clan, right? Did you...have an _allan'isa_?" Her pronunciation was clumsy and brought a glimpse of bemusement to the other girl's face before the elf spoke.

"Yes. I did. His name was Theron. We were together from childhood. He was...the best of allan'isa, better than I could have asked for." Bitterness overtook any sign of a smile. "And before you ask – I know you will – we were walking alone amongst the trees while my clan rested nearby. The Templars stumbled upon us. Theron did not want to let them take me. They killed him and brought me here."

Dismay swept over Faye's features, and the younger mage jumped to her feet, reaching out to the elf before thinking better of it and pulling back. "I am...I am _so sorry_ for your loss," she whispered, an abrupt rush of shame and horror flooding her as she thought of every rude comment she might have ever made to Arwen, that might have unknowingly probed such a sensitive topic.

The white haired elf gave her a dark glance. "I have no love for shems and your Chantry or your Templars. But I can understand, all the same. You have not chosen so badly."

The conversation seemed to die after that, and both returned to their previous activities. The only acknowledgement that it had ever happened came from Faye, later that night, when she thought that Arwen had fallen asleep.

"It's sinful to say it, but I almost think things might be better if the elves had won, all those ages ago. Maybe you would have killed all us shems...or maybe we might live in this world with partners instead of...of watch guards."

She rolled in her bed and went to sleep.

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><p>A year later, when Cullen came to her at dawn with shaking hands and the news that Arwen had been struck down at her Harrowing, Faye did not cry.<p>

Arwen Surana was dead and _free_-

Faye hoped, with Theron.

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><p>[AN - There will be more to come. I'm hoping to do at least 5 installments in total to this miniseries, so we'll see how it goes. Unless otherwise stated, all of my DA stories take place in a slightly AU headcanon created with my friend where multiple PCs have been smushed into the same world. You have now met my Amell and Surana - We also have her Cousland and my Tabris (non Warden versions of both) and her Hawke. Other stories from this AU will be up soon(:

/EDIT: ACK. I forgot to credit the fantastic and talented corker, whose work can be found in a variety of places across the internet, for the allan'isa idea which is all hers. She writes some DA lore articles + fantastic fics, and included the allan'isa in an Elvhenan AU that I adore, so I wanted to include a bit of that into this fic. If you would like links, please pm me(:

As always, reviews are welcome and greatly appreciated, and I'd be happy to take suggestions for other scenes you'd like to see from the Tower.


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